


Price

by lilfluffykitten



Category: Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilfluffykitten/pseuds/lilfluffykitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Richard pondered the price of returning to London Below.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Price

_Indebted_  
  
In those long strange weeks since following the Marquis through the door that wasn’t, Richard had plenty of opportunities to wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake. He was absurdly pleased, and not a little relieved, to find that Door was thrilled to see him back. However she was also busy fulfilling the ambitions of her father so, when an envoy was needed to deliver her proposed unification plans to the rats, there was really only one logical choice. The Marquis, apparently at a loose end or perhaps just displaying his perverse sense of humour, had deigned to accompany him. Richard half suspected Door had probably put him up to it, but it was still unlikely the man didn’t have an ulterior motive of some kind. The thought of being in his debt was unsettling, but Richard was still glad of his company especially as he was horribly aware that he really had no idea what he was doing. They had been walking down a series of identical tunnels before the Marquis abruptly stopped, head cocked as if listening to something Richard couldn’t hear. He was just about to ask what was happening when the Marquis had grinned, told him to wait there and not move, before slipping into the shadows. Richard had been waiting now for what seemed like hours and was getting thoroughly fed up. Being told to stay like a dog left outside a shop was bad enough, but having the command issued in the tone of voice that suggested it had to be said plainly or else Richard would wander off and get himself killed. Probably horribly, doubtlessly permanently and the Marquis would end up having to explain it all to someone. Not that it would be unexpected, of course, but the Marquis frankly had better things to do with his time. More disturbingly, a small sensible part of Richard’s mind couldn’t help worrying that the Marquis was right; warrior or not he wasn’t too sure that he could successfully avoid a such a horrible death should he happen across one.  
  
As it turned out neither of them needed to worry. Something did venture towards him, he couldn’t quite see who or what it was, but just as suddenly it stopped, turned and beat a rapid retreat. Shaking, he managed to sheath Hunter’s, _his_ , knife again; maybe his reputation preceded him after all.  
  
He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or appalled.  
  
 _Assimilation_  
  
Richard was now better at finding his way around. He could discern landmarks and subtle differences in the dank tunnels that had seemed identical and interchangeable the first time he’d seen them. His sense of direction appeared to have sharpened too, he still found himself lost more than was strictly comfortable but he had a vague idea of where north was, or at least where London Below’s version of north was. These weren’t the only things about him that had changed. Harder, leaner, less trusting he was very different from the Richard of old. Sometimes he vaguely thought that it would be unlikely anyone from his life before would recognise him, although he rarely thought of that life now. This wasn’t entirely a conscious decision, since arriving back he’d started forgetting things about his time in London Above. Firstly small things, unimportant things; the name of Jessica’s favourite restaurant, what his living room looked like, silly little things of no importance. However recently he’d been finding it harder and harder to picture any of his past. The memories were insubstantial, fading even as he thought of them. He could no longer remember the name of the town he’d lived in for so many years before moving down south, or what Jess looked like, or the feeling of rain on his face. When he’d been briefly returned to that old life his adventures below had seemed like a dream, a strange feverish hallucination that appeared more and more outlandish every time he thought about it. Now though it felt he’d been here forever, and his life from before was the dream. As disconcerting as this was he still regarded himself as being something different; no longer part of London Above, but equally not entirely accepted in London Below. The shift in that particular balance was so small, so insignificant, that that not even Richard noticed.  
  
Door had once told him that they couldn’t lie about the Floating Market, she didn’t know why it was just special. Richard however was under no such obligation. Not that he would lie, of course, but the couple of times someone had asked him about the Market’s latest whereabouts he’d had to pause. Mostly to take stock of the asker (he still couldn’t entirely believe the idea that the asker wouldn’t try and damage him after getting their answer), and then to organise his thoughts enough to actually tell them. He’d only found out when and where the next market was being held that afternoon, but when a stern matronly woman escorting a group of giggling young girls asked him where it was he found that he’d answered her before even being aware he’d spoken. There was no conscious decision to speak, no racking his memory to get the location or work out the day, he’d merely blurted out the answer automatically, unthinkingly. The woman sensing nothing unusual, had thanked him primly then herded her charges away. Richard, for his part, had felt the strength run out of his legs and only managed to stagger to the nearest wall before he would have fallen.  
  
 _Costly_  
  
Tonight the Floating Market was being held in the Natural History museum, the stalls set up around, within and on top of the priceless exhibits. After careful consideration Richard decided that the Diplodocus festooned with pieces of cloth was a particularly nice touch. He had no idea what they were doing there, not that he would ever admit that, which was why he was currently admiring a collection of fabrics wrapped round a dinosaur waiting for the Marquis to finish whatever business he was conducting. With a small sigh, he tore himself away from the Diplodocus and wandered around the vast room. In a dim corner, a brief flash of liquid light caught his eye. He froze until he saw the glint again, once located he started towards it. Calling it a stall was overgenerous, it was more a collection of battered odds and ends scattered on an old woollen shawl. The only thing of interest was the long shard of glass the light was reflecting off in strange patterns that reminded him of Islington’s robes. He reached out and, almost before he realised, found himself cradling the shard carefully in one hand. The seller of the goods, a tall woman wrapped in a long black hooded robe that covered her completely from head to foot, edged closer. Richard didn’t, _couldn’t_ , notice. Unaware of everything going on around him he stared into the grimy glass as it shifted into a series of scenes, golden tinged scenes of the memories he’d been desperately trying to remember. Pictures of his childhood, snapshots of the life he had lived and had been so anxious to return to, and all the things that could have been. As soon as he’d touched the glass he’d felt a curious sense of peace settle over him, a feeling that became stronger and stronger as the long minutes ticked by until he wanted nothing more than to sink to his knees and lose himself in those flickering images. He was unsure how much time had passed, but the next thing he was aware of was the Marquis plucking the glass from his unresisting grasp. He blinked, confused, as if waking up from a dream. The Marquis stared into the glass, then shrugged unimpressed and tossed it lightly back onto the shawl. As he did so the woman, who’d been leaning over Richard greedily shrank back into the shadows, even as Richard struggled to understand what was happening. He reached half-heartedly for the glass again but the Marquis caught his hand. “I wouldn’t. I doubt you can afford it.”  
  
Richard was still feeling numb and empty from the loss of the glass. “What is it?” he at last managed to whisper.  
  
“Something that has never done anyone any good. It’s ancient and undiscriminating, and slivers of it turn up every so often looking for someone new to ensnare.”  
  
Richard could only shake his head but, before the Marquis could elaborate further, the woman darted forward to snatch up the glass. Richard fumbled for his knife, truce forgotten, however by the time he’d drawn the blade the woman had vanished.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for smallfandomfest 2009
> 
> Part of the slooow process of moving fic from my LJ. Obvs I don't own these characters, I own nothing of any worth… fun not profit blah blah blah!


End file.
